Tag Archives: Friends

Last week’s sailing in the western Caribbean seems far removed from the stacks of laundry surrounding me.

It doesn’t seem real that we swam with dolphins four days ago. That only five have passed since we parasailed with friends in Grand Cayman. Or that Jamaica — the land of “no problems… and only situations,” where the header photo was shot six days ago — should feel as fuzzy as any ethereal memory freshly minted by dreams. How is it that the good feeling created by vacations carries over, while the concrete specifics of good times wash away from memory… minutes after they happen?

My husband and I’ve been home less than two days, enough time to work through seven loads of laundry. I didn’t realize we owned so many clothes. But somehow, it’s the clothes that anchor the reality of our dreamy cruise vacation with Texas friends. I remember wearing the red ruffled tank with the shimmery pants on Monday evening. Wednesday saw me in white denim cropped pants and Caribbean blue tank. Thursday, a Hibiscus red cotton skirt with an indigo blue tank.

Each outfit carries a care label, which I follow to a T. Cold water wash. Tumble dry low. Lie flat. Line dry. And though I have no clothes line, the chair backs of my patio table make perfect personal valets to dry wet shirts and pants upon. Yesterday’s warm sunshine and strong winds witnessed four “loads” hanging across those metal chair backs.

Even now, I marvel at how easily this trip fell into place. I didn’t expect invitations extended in late January to two Texas couples to be received so positively…. that they would rearrange planned events in their lives to make it happen… all to join me and help celebrate my husband’s recent retirement. When I thanked them for coming, they said they were honored to be asked. All week long, we took turns saying how wonderful a time we were having together. And how nice it would be if we could make it all happen again.

But here’s the surprise souvenir from my time away: I return to laundry and “real” life knowing that it will be okay if the miracle of traveling with these dear friends never happens again. Because when something is good enough the first time, fine enough to feel like it belongs to the world of dreams rather than waking life, repetition becomes unnecessary. Once becomes enough for a lifetime.

Which makes me wonder whether there are greater lessons to be learned in what happens in everyday life. In those things, like laundry, which require routine repetition.

Sitting outside my borrowed balcony, I thought about life, then recorded an odd mix of thoughts — regular schedule programming stuff as well as that which tends to interrupt the norm.

Questions like — “What to buy for upcoming birthdays?” — mixed with — “What to think about my Arthur Andersen gal pals retiring?” — led to one on the limits of photography: “Is it possible to capture the way a particular vintage of early light washes over surfaces to soften steel rooftops, while making a far-off tree defining my horizon, turn red and aglow, each limb and leaf separate and distinct?

The camera is poor help in recording glimpses of reality. Maybe its fully programmable nature is in part to blame. After all, the images it takes are limited by what it’s programmed to record. Since the sky shouldn’t be mauve, light-washed with orange, perhaps the camera filters out those glorious shades so that the sky ends up bleached of color. And while the red of the horizon tree is there, its distinctive shaped edges are lost in translation. By the time the camera and its lens has done its best work, that glorious tree has become a mere smudge of itself.

Looking at image after failed image, I began to wonder whether the camera didn’t do its job just right. That is, what if the image the camera actually captured, WAS the reality of things? What if it was my eye or mind that allowed me to see a different reality, inviting me to see something more than that which was really there to record by machine? Perhaps I looked out on that tree and saw not only its goodness and raw beauty, but as “like calls to like”, could it be that I beheld hints of hidden reality, shimmering beyond my camera’s ability to capture?

Stories of old friends, told around the table Saturday night, made me wonder similar thoughts, regarding the direction of my life. They all have such grand plans. And hearing them dream made me wonder whether I was living my quiet life as I should or whether there were other, more important things, I should be devoting myself toward.

One gal pal, recently retired from her high-powered tax career, is helping to plant a new Methodist church in Kentucky. Another is making plans to travel to Africa, with hopes of helping women and communities by sharing her business expertise. Another, just returning home, after years of living in South Florida, is looking forward to finding another job. Not so much for the income, but for connections with the new community she is transplanting into. She knows not what, only that there will be something with her name on it.

Can I see myself in Africa? Or helping to plant a church? Or entering the work force again — especially in days of a shrinking job market? No. Not really.

But do I dismiss too quickly? Is it possible my own distant vision, when it comes to seeing my own abilities and potential, is as faulty as this morning’s camera lens, when focusing on the sky and that red tree? Do I white out multicolored adventures by concluding they aren’t for me. Could my regular scheduled programming of life keep me from focusing properly on a fuzzy horizon?

If not Africa or church-planting, then what else might be lying just beyond that horizon whispering my name?

We didn’t talk long. Like me, she stays too busy everyday of the year and today I caught her on her way to visit the dentist. But we talked long enough for my eyes to grow watery. Not because of what she said. Or what I said — which is strange, since I love words so much. But oh my gosh, the tears came simply from hearing the sound of her voice. And if tears lead to heart’s truth — then it’s clear I’ve allowed myself to become Wynona-deprived.

Why is it that we don’t pick up the phone more often to speak to old friends — or family — to check in and hear the sound of their voices. Life gets in the way and I tell myself I’ll do it later — yes, I’ll do it after doing this or that — not really realizing I’m telling fibs to myself because — don’t you know — I always have a this and that in my life to do! And can I be the only one saying these things to myself, to deny myself such little pleasures in life — as a phone visit with a good friend?

While staying connected is important all the time, I’m only diligent about it this time of the year, when I take time to send out old-fashioned greeting cards. It’s sad that I don’t receive as many as I once did. And that a few I do receive sometimes carry hidden — or not so hidden motives — like the one I received this morning.

My first Christmas card of the season — no, after opening it again, I see it’s a “Holiday” Card rather than the Christmas variety, though the front of the card, as shown in the photo above, does contain a scene of the seeds of the season. “Peace” the headline says — and Lord knows, in a year where family feuding has rattled my home more that those four (or is it five?) earthquakes we’ve suffered — that’s all the card has to say to garner my full attention. So I open the card to read:

“May your Holiday Season be filled with all of the joy and peace on earth.”

It’s a nice wish. Though I’m greedy enough to wish that the peace and joy weren’t limited to just what we had on earth. But wait, beneath this greeting in a tiny soundbite of Scripture:

“God blesses those who hunger and thirst for justice, for they will be satisfied.” St. Matthew 5:6

Justice is good, I suppose, though what is justice to one is not to another. Depending upon outlook, depending upon which side of the fence one stands on — which side of the war zone one lives in. Oh, I wish it had been a Scripture about peace — such as the one just a few verses down the page, which reads:

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” St. Matthew 5:9.

Yes, I’m being nit-picky. More than a nit, if I’m being honest. But not a nit-wit I think, because under the Scripture, is the name and address of my newspaper delivery man, who’s hoping — I’m pretty sure — that a card to me will inspire gifts of seasonal greenery. Because he’s such a good delivery man at all.

Well, truth is — he is. And so — not out of fear that my failure to respond will cause him to no longer connect with my front sidewalk, which he does with unerring accuracy — I’ll grant that wish. And I’ll do it for the best of reasons — because in doing so, I’ll connect — even if ever so dimly — with something far greater than myself — to that one “whose sandals I’m unfit to untie.”

Today I’ll tuck that monetary gift into a Christmas card with a simple “thanks.” Because sometimes less is more. Except, of course, when it comes to gifts of seasonal greenery. And staying connected with good friends — like Wynona.